


Creative(ly) Writing

by ameliamazing1603



Category: Original Work
Genre: Chapter Inspired by The Hollow, Dystopia, Free Work, I Don't Even Know, Misc. Works, School Work, Short Stories, The Hollow - Freeform, collection, creative writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-11-19 14:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliamazing1603/pseuds/ameliamazing1603
Summary: A collection of stories I've written, mostly for classes.





	1. Ashes to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This was an assignment for eighth grade English class, so its not the best thing ever. I know the ending sucks, and there are probably a lot of mistakes. I welcome so good constructive criticism! :)

From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust.  
You'll rise again, in this I'll trust.  
The sky was a horrifying masterpiece of red, orange and gold, overlapping the inky black of night. Flames and pure heat were everywhere, encasing and annihilating whatever it could, its greed never fulfilled. Heat burned my skin, drying my eyes, and searing my senses. The flickering embers quickly fading out of my view as the ash fell from the heavens, a blanket for the dead. The ash seemed never ending, spiraling down like a gray snowstorm, bleak and isolating. It filled my lungs, my nose, my eyes, overwhelming my senses. All I could feel was the soot coating my being, cutting me off for the outside. As blind and deaf as a newborn kitten, I stood meek in the ever growing piles of cinder yet I wasn’t afraid for a reason I could not comprehend. I could feel my heart erratically thumping, its beat as erratic as my choked up breathing. My mind was static, empty and meaningless, yet devastatingly full of noise, and my chest burned like the fires around me. My feet slipped and I found myself crashing to my knees as I wheezed and wheezed and wheezed, fighting with the ash in my lungs and losing. I was going to die here, entombed forever in this god forsaken ash, like a modern day Pompeii. I thought of the people I would see again, all those who were surely long dead, fuel for the monstrous fires. As I lay there panting, praying,   
dying, I was brutally awoken from my self pitying reverie,with a violent tug to my shoulder. Still blinded, muted and deafened, my heart beat all the more faster, my already weak breath ragged with fear. The strong grip on my shoulder traveled to my wrist, tugging me upwards none too gently. Though I could not look upon my guide, I felt the urgency in their touch. One silent minute of standing still, skin touching skin, until, like a jet plane, the person clinging to me took off. My arm ached from the forceful lift off, and my already damaged lungs could barely supply me with enough air supply to fuel my stumbling sprinting. The run seemed to last miles, my shepherd weaving their blind sheep though the scattered piles of debris and the still heated blazes. As we ran I felt the air whipping past us turn cooler and clearer, no longer the air from an inferno. As abruptly as we started, my escort skidded to a stop, causing me to fumble ungracefully to a stop as well. The hand that had been glued to my arm suddenly removed itself, leaving me defenseless and lost. I felt a gust of wind blow in to my face, partially clearing my vision just enough to see several blurred human figures a slight bit taller than me. I felt a sharp pain in my neck and I went boneless, and my vision once again turned black.   
\--- --- --- ---  
The world was an inky black, and the air felt thick like molasses. My brain felt fuzzy, and wrong, like a car stuck idling. I couldn’t move or feel. Is this death? Is this eternity? Is this-  
“Are you sure she’s a good option for this?” A persistent female voice waded through the darkness and my thoughts. “What if we lose control, or she dies,we lose a great asset!”  
“What are you talking about?” I mumbled unable to concentrate, my head spinning like a drunkard. I heard more faint inquisitions, but none strong enough to make sense to my muddled mind. I walked forward into the darkness, or as it felt more like, glided my way. My feet felt lighter than ever before against the “ground” and my eyes strained to find any point of light. I could feel my hair and dress blowing in some sort of invisible wind. The background noise of soothing whispers suddenly changed to a harsh beeping. The noise grated harshly against my ear, hurting my head. The peaceful tranquility of this dreamscape of sorts was shattered and replaced with a night terror. The blackness now seemed suffocating, and the floor no longer soft, but slippery and hollow, threatening to crumble under my feet. I ran not seeing not knowing a destination which to head towards. My senses were tuned up to a hundred, and I could feel the judging eyes of invisible onlookers.   
*CRACK*  
The floor broke between my feet sending me down, down, down into a unknown abyss, when-  
“She’s awake!” a voice cried, as the world shattered around me, revealing a illuminated, white and steel room. There were people I didn’t recognized gathered around me, while I was laying in what must be a hospital bed. I looked around dazed and confused, still invested in my vision.   
“It must have been a mighty dream you had there,” A young girl's voice sounded, “You were shaking and whimpering up a storm.”  
“Hush Eliza!” a motherly voice spoke from the gathered crowd, “The poor dear must be so overwhelmed.” The lady who the voice belonged to—a middle-aged women with kind eyes and a gentle but mighty voice—spoke ushering mist of the crowd out of the room with minimal protests. “I’m sorry about that dear, people always get excited with an entrance like yours!” The women said turning back to me. “My names Sari, and this little rascal,” she said gesturing to the outspoken little girl from earlier—who was now hiding behind Sari’s legs—, “is my daughter Eliza.” Eliza peeked out and meekly waved at me, confidence from before now gone. Another woman stepped forward, this time younger than Sari, with a minimal expression on her face. She had light brown skin, with short curly brown hair, and light blue eyes. Her eyes glittered calculatingly yet were not unkind. She took my hand and shook it firmly.   
“My names Miriam.” The newly known Miriam spoke. I could see a light dusting freckles on her checks now, in the shining light near my bed. She wore dark colors, but light feeling fabrics, like you would see in clothes for the dessert. Her shoes were thick soled army boots, heavy against the ground, yet seemed light as a feather with the gracefulness she walked with. Observing her clothes I realized my own lack of attire (for I was in a hospice gown only) and my lack of knowledge of what happened.   
“What happened?” I questioned my voice scratchy from disuse and the ash from before. Sari stepped forward, clearly about to tell me, but Miriam put her hand to her arm, and shook her head. As Sari stepped back, I wondered who this girl was, and why Sari listened to her, despite being her elder.   
“I’ll tell her, I know more of the story.” Miriam ordered sternly to Sari, “Why don’t you and Eliza go find her some proper clothes to wear, and some supplies for a shower. She’ll probably be wanting one soon.” Sari nodded and took Eliza's hand leading her out the doors situated against a leftmost wall. As soon as they left, Miriam turned back to me slight sympathetic smile on her face, and a fire in her eyes.   
“I figured you’d want some privacy while talking about this, newcomers usually have a hard time talking about the their Burnouts.” Miriam gently spoke leaning on the wall next to my bed. Burnouts… one words that seem so small and meaningless, but the thing it was used to title is horrifying and destructive. Burn Outs are unscheduled bombings by The Watchers. The Watchers are our dictators, or as they like to call themselves, our gods. The Watchers like to keep people on their feet, and by on their feet I mean killing 93% of a cities population to send a message. Killing everyone you’ve ever know to send a message.   
“Before telling you what happened, I need you to answer a few questions for me, but don’t worry it's just simple stuff.” She spoke with a comforting tune. “First things first, can you tell me your name and age?”  
Relieved at an easy starting question I introduced myself, “Cassandra Flamel, seventeen years old.” I said with military precision, like my parents taught me too if we ever went through a Burn Out.   
“Okay that's good, definitely no amnesia...Okay now for question two: What town where you were from, and who did you live with.” Were from. Lived with. No longer from, no longer lived with. Burnt out, burnt alive. Gone, Dead.   
“I...” My voice was thick, eye welling with tears as I thought about what (whom) I left had behind. “I lived in Kastoria with my mother, father, and twin sister. None of them made it out.” For a reason I did not know, my story felt like bitter lies inside my mouth. Miriam looked not in pity for me, but in understanding when I spoke of my family. She had a familiar pain in her eyes, one I had seen in Sari too. One I would most likely see staring back at me from a mirror.   
“Well that's all my questions for you for the moment, so now I’ll tell you what you want to know. Two nights ago, May 20th 3167, The Watchers launched their largest Burnout yet. They burned 60,000 miles of land at once, killing almost 10,000,000 people. We managed to get a few hundred survivors to safety, but this Burnout was different than the others. The fires didn’t go out, they are still raging at this moment. No one here can figure out how to put them out yet, and they are spreading even more every moment. We found you while we were scouring for survivors, and brought you here. We had to drug you so we could examine you and clear the ash from your body” Miriam spoke her voice grave and morose.  
“We, here, us? Where am I? What is this place? I questioned, shell-shocked by news of the biggest Burnout.  
“We are in a underground base in Korçë, that was built during the first Watcher invasion. Our group itself doesn't have a name, but we are search and rescue rebel group. Our task is too search current Burnout areas and help survivors escape and to put out the flames. Ideally we would eventually like to find a way to know the Burnout schedule ahead of time, but for now we have no way of knowing.” Something deep inside of me swirled, something like satisfaction, something that I didn’t yet understand its place inside of me. “I’m second in command here, despite my age. I’ve been here for a while. I lead the rescue teams, even though I’m not bad at strategy either.” Then with a soft thump the door opened to reveal Sari and Eliza both carrying bundles of clothes and hygiene supplies. We both startled a slight bit as they strolled in, and Miriam schooled her face back to a neutral expression. Sari walked up to me with a friendly smile and a nod to Miriam and said,  
“I found you two different outfits to choose from, and Eliza has some shower supplies. The clothes might be a bit big dear, we didn’t have much in your size. I trust Miriam has finished her story by now?” She said with no room for argument. She led me to a bathroom across from my room, and handed me my supplies. I turned away from the door and her fading figure and set out to get clean and tidy.  
\--- --- --- ---   
I stared at myself in the mirror. No… this is not me, I decided. It can’t be. My golden hair appeared to have been cut short in my sleep, its ends most likely burnt in the fire. My eyes wide and haunted, shadowed by dark bags that were deep set into my face. My face was youthful as it should be, but it felt… wrong. My skin felt the wrong size for my soul, like an adult in a child body. The clothes, swamped my thin figure making me appear even younger. I took a full breath and fixed a expression on my face that did not make me look like I felt inside. I opened the door, and marched outside, feeling like an imposter, even in my own body. As I walked distracted by my own thoughts of my feelings of displacement , someone crashed into me, sending me sprawling onto the cold floor, the other person falling beside me. I groaned from the shock of the fall, perfectly in time with my aggressor. I staggered to my feet and collected myself as the other person did the same. My “aggressor” was a tall male, maybe six feet to my 5’3. He had dark skin, with equally dark hair and amber eyes. He turned to me with an apology ready on his lips.   
“God, I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz… Are you new around here? It's just that I’VE never seen you here before… and I know just about everyone here so I was just thinking that-” These words spilled out of his mouth like water out of a faucet. His breath was quick and words rushed. I was taken aback from the whole ordeal, and was a bit tired of the word vomit he was doing, so I spoke up.  
“Don’t worry about it,” I say with a smile, “It's fine. You were right though, I am new here, My name’s Cassandra.” I held out my hand in a friendly gesture. He takes it and shakes it enthusiastically.   
“I’m Elijah, Welcome to our little group here! I’m sure you’ll like it here a lot, even if you miss your old life… but don’t worry we are like our own little family here.” He said warmly and confidently. I felt a push in my head, a little voice in my mind giving me commands.  
“Thanks for the welcome! I was wondering if you could give me some information…” I said faking shy, twirling my hair and blushing. I didn’t know why, but I felt I needed to get this information, somewhere deep inside me, like a pre-programmed task. Elijah looked a bit flustered, his cheeks flushing and eyes wide.   
“Oh! Of course just tell me what you need, and I will be happy to supply you with it.” He stammered flustered.   
“Why thank you…” I said eyelashes fluttering, my body feeling like it was under the command of another. “First of all, I was wondering…”  
\--- --- --- ---  
After gaining the information required from Elijah, I walked back to my hospital room, my fragile body exhausted already. When I walked Miriam was there sitting on my bed reading a coverless non-descript novel. She looked up as the door opened, eyes widening like she had been caught off guard, than settled back into her normal expression.   
“Hello. You are looking better than before, definitely cleaner.” She said a pleasant smile on her face. I smiled back, and nodded in agreement. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to go back to sleep now?  
“Yes please.” I say sugary sweet. Her expression faltered, eyes searching my face, like she was judging my very soul. “I’m pretty tired.” She nodded, seeming slightly hesitant to leave me alone, and left the room, never looking back to me. I crawled into my bed, eyes shutting and mind wandering as soon as my head hit the pillow.   
\--- --- --- ---  
“Did she get us the information?” A male voice deeply familiar said, who it belonged to I did not know.   
“Yes, and she still remains unaware of our presence or her true self.” Another voice spoke,female this time, even more achingly familiar this time. Are they talking about me? What information? Who are these people, who are they here while I sleep? I felt a cool hand touch my forehead, the hands touch almost seemed fond. I slipped back into a state of semi-consciousness, unable to control my body or my voice. They asked me questions-the same I had asked Elijah- and I answered them, not of my own choice but for something else controlled my tongue at that moment.   
“A shame she can’t come back to us just yet… She always hated these missions, having to leave us us behind and forget it all for a while.” The first voice spoke again, sounding fond for the subject he was talking about.  
“I miss her, I really do… but she is gathering vital information about the rebel groups for us, so we may regain full control.” The female voice said, and I felt her lean do to my ear whispering, “See you soon my love” before kissing me on the forehead.   
“We are weakened with her in sleeper mode. Cassandra must return to us soon.”  
Me? Sleeper mode? Questions flooded my mind as I struggled for control, to yell, to scream, to wake up. I felt myself slipping back into oblivion, my thoughts fleeing as true sleep returned.   
\--- --- --- ---  
As Cassandra feel asleep, the information she had learned slipped from her mind, per the direction of her midnight visitors. She remained ignorant in her belief of her true intentions, with no clue that she was one of them, the ones who she believed was her enemy. That she was a Watcher.   
I'll see you soon, it's a must.  
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.


	2. The Stress of an Audition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My english 10 midterm. A true story about an audition experience.

God, I really hate auditions. Like really, really hate them. I always get really anxious about them. I don't get it. I do fine in shows, being on stage is perfectly okay for me, but auditions? They are the worst. But they are a necessary evil. Which brings me to where I am now. Standing outside the theatre, monologue clenched tightly in my hand. I think I may be hyperventilating, but I can't worry about that right now. Various other people are gathered in the hallway with me. Some are talking to each other, others practicing their monologues, I think I even see someone taking a nap. Most of these people are familiar. People I´ve known for a while. People I've only just met. Some I only recognize from passing in the halls. All here for the same thing as me. Scanning the hall, I quickly try to count up the number of people there. Not a lot, but still too many. There is limited spots, I know this, and I also know that these people are all better than I am. More experienced, more talented, or just more likable. I don´t know this director, I don't know this show, I don´t know very much at all. I don't even know what to do when I get in there. Do I have to introduce myself? Say my name and grade? Do I just start reading my monologue? God, I don't even know what I am doing. Maybe I should just leave. I should just give up on this one. Maybe I'll just do the spring show. That would be fine.   
¨Hey are you okay?, I looked up to see a friend of mine, Beth, looking at me with concern in her eyes, You look a little pale.”   
¨Oh, don´t worry about me. I´m fine.¨ I mutter, trying to get a convincing smile on my face. She smiles, soft and slightly pitying, back at me, wishes me luck and makes her way into the line. The line moves along, both too slow and too quick for my liking. I can see the door of the theater periodically opening and closing. People trail in and out, some looking as serene as a spring day, others looking worse than I feel.   
My chests feels tight as the line dwindles, and only two people remain before me. I feel sweat build on my brow, and suddenly I am hyper-aware of everything about me. I know my hair must be a mess, and I don't even know how I thought this outfit looked good. My throat feels thick and my skin feels weirdly tight and uncomfortable. I can't remember if my breathing always feels like this.The door clicks loudly in the way only school doors do, and I want to scream when I see that only one person remains in front of me. I try to breath, long and deep, like people always tell you to do if your nervous. I don't think it helps much, but it's a decent distraction. As I wait, I try to smooth out my crumpled monologue sheet. I had held it so tightly, I am almost surprised it didn't rip. The clicking of the door signifies that my time has arrived. I gather up any courage I have and walk into the theater.  
The lights are dim, so much so that I can barely make out the faces in the seats. The director and her three student directors are all sitting quiet and still. I recognized 2 of them, but not very well. I think I have Choral with one, and I recognized the other from our Fiddler on the Roof production. The third girl, however, was quite unfamiliar. The walk from the theater door to the center of the stage has never felt so long. When I finally make my way in front of the council, I hear the director start to speak.   
¨What is your name and grade, honey?¨ She asks, not unkindly but not exactly gentle.  
¨Amelia Millstone, and I am in 9th grade.¨ I answer my voice only wavering a bit.   
¨Oh, are you Sam Millstones little sister? I love Sam!¨, One the three student directors exclaims, voice bright.  
As I open my mouth to answer, I have to suppress the urge to sigh and roll my eyes. Of course. Theater is probably the one place I thought Sam would never touch, and yet here I am, answering the question I´m sure every younger sibling has heard. Of course he is my brother, I want to shout. We´re the only Millstones in the whole state! But swallowing my grievances I answer, ¨Yes, I am Sam´s little sister,” hoping I managed to hide the sharp sting of bitterness in my voice.   
¨Well tell him that I say hello,¨ The same student says a smile on her face, visible even in the dark. I nod, just wanting this to be over. The others chime in, wishing to say hello as well.   
¨Well, whenever you´re ready.¨ The director motions her hand , signalling me to go.   
I take a deep breath, trying to swallow the nausea building in my chest. The lights overhead feel unbearably bright and my hands are so tightly clenched I can feel the bite of my nails digging into my palms. I glance down at the paper in my hands one last time, then I open my mouth to speak. My voice sounds quieter than I am used to, and thin, like it's barely there. As I get going it gets stronger, and crescendos to the final beat of my monologue. The room rings with a slightly uncomfortable silence after I utter my last words. Feeling like an animal in the zoo, I feel the sudden urge to bolt, to just leave and not look back, but that would be ridiculous.   
The seconds seem to stretch on and on, and I wonder if I am doing something wrong before the director says, “Well that was lovely, thank you for auditioning, please send the next person in after you leave.” I mutter some meaningless and falsely cheerful words, as I turn and walk awkwardly out of the theater. As I leave, I motion for the next person in line to go. My friends Anna and Lacy greet me, asking how it went. I grin, and say some falsely confident words I definitely don’t believe. The words taste like ash in my mouth, dry and bitter. I fake a text from my mother and wave goodbye to my friends. They smile back, and wish me a friendly goodbye. I turn and stalk off, ducking into a corner and trying not to cry. My eyes sting as my breath gets faster and faster. I blew it. There is no way I’ll get cast. God, they probably hated me. There goes my chance, slipping through my fingers. Maybe I’ll join crew instead. My phone buzzes against my leg from my in pocket. I pull it out, a bright notification peeking out from the screen. It’s a text from my mother, saying she's here to pick me up. I push myself up from the wall, swallowing the lump in my throat and making my way out of the school and into my moms waiting car.  
“How did it go!” My mom practically shouted as soon as the car door closes behind me.   
“Fine, I say quickly, trying to stop this conversation. “I think it went pretty well.” She beamed at me, bright and overbearing. She looked at me, complete trust in her eyes and pure belief that I could do well. But I knew that I couldn’t. But I would never say that, so I just settled for a smile back.   
Later that day, staring at the cast sheet, I felt something new build up in my chest. Disbelief, excitement or anticipation, I don’t know, but I don’t mind it. I resist the urge to scream and settle instead for jumping up and down, phone clutched tightly in my hand. I did it! I made it! I can’t believe it. I wonder what they saw in me, that made them believe in me. For all the other options,what made them choose me? Well, whatever it is, I’ve got a feeling this is the beginning of something great.


	3. Riders of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My creative writing midterm

Riders of the Storm  
The ocean’s waves were dark and wild, reminiscent of a child's temper tantrum. They crashed against the rocky shore, dragging any form of resistance they met into a frigid embrace. The air was thick with a bleak, rolling fog setting in and the sun seemed to have gone away for good. It was colder than it ought to be in the middle of April, with a heavy frost settling into the ground and the windshields of any cars nearby. Something was wrong. Anyone could sense it. Tempers were short and tensions were high. The animals in the area were both skittish and bold, coming nearer and nearer but not yet attacking. It was like someone had stuck a wrong chord in the song of the world. The air seemed to ring with a warning. As if someone had screamed a cry that was only just too far away to be heard.  
In a town nearby by the turbulent sea, silence rang throughout. Dark houses and empty cars gave an off-putting feeling in the atmosphere. The air smelled like ozone, and felt electrically charged, like right after a thunderstorm. In this ghost town of a place, a young girl tossed and turned restlessly in her bed as if she could sense the off nature of the world around her. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead damp and sweaty. Her lips moved but like usual not a sound escaped them. Her eyes moved rapidly under her eyelids, clearly searching for something she had yet to find. The moon, bright and unyielding, shined through her open window casting an almost hollow glow on her feverish face.   
Suddenly, the girl sprang up from her fitful rest, eyes opening wide. She panted heavily, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Her eyes, the color of liquid amber, tracked the perimeter of her cozy bedroom as if searching for an invisible enemy. Ruffled by the wild nature of her sleep, her long hair clung to the sweat on her forehead, neck and heaving chest. To gather herself together, she took a few deep breaths, and aimed to fix her hair. The girl, wincing at the movement, slowly peeled back the covers and limped out of bed. As she traveled she flicked on a lamp, filling the dark room with a warm glow, and walked to her dresser to look in the large mirror on top. The longer she looked, the more she noticed. How pale she was. The dark bruises under her eyes and marrying her arms. The trembling in her hands. Thin scratches on her shoulders, born from night terrors she had turned on herself. Pink scars edged their way over her shoulders and down her back. Not that what she looked like mattered. She had no one to impress, not anymore. Her hair, a sweet chocolate brown, sat tangled and thick against her neck and down to her elbows. She attempted to smile, but every one she tried looked colder than the ocean itself.   
After changing into suitable day attire, the girl, known as the young Allison Carter, left her room and ventured into the rest of her small house. With the lights off, the house seemed empty. Light as they were, her footsteps made little noise, but even that seemed loud in the silence of the house. It rang with an air of solitude. Pictures lined the walls, bright grins featured prominently in them. A charming family, all with matching dark hair and toothy smiles. A mother and a father, paired with two children- one boy and one girl- growing older in each photo. A perfect nuclear family. They were framed nicely, neat and perfect, just like the family in them. The photos went on and on, year after year. Allison dragged her fingers lightly across the wall, trailing under each frame, just grazing the edges. She didn't look as she moved, clearly following a path she traveled often. Her eyes closed as she basked in the soft glow coming in from the kitchen window. A soft, real smile peeked out of the corners of her mouth.   
Her hand dropped to her sides when the pictures ended. Her smile stopped too. She had reached the sudden reminder that those pictures no longer reflected her reality. The people in them had been swept up in the storm. The room seemed colder, the sunlight feeling almost artificial. The silence that swarmed the house was broken by a crash of thunder. The light in the room dimmed as clouds rolled in overhead, rain pouring down in sharp streams. Sudden gusts of wind blew in, rattling the windows. A sharp sting of apprehension crept up her neck. She tensed, slowly turning, eyes searching for an invisible foe. She swallowed harshly, ignoring the sharp pain that came with it. Bright flashes filled her vision as lighting struck again and again on the trees across town. Dread clawed at her stomach, nausea welling up in her chest. Thunder rumbled in the distance, like horses racing towards her. They were coming for her.   
The Wild Hunt, people called it. Riders of the Storm. At first it had just seemed like nothing, just a case of runaways or maybe even a murder spree. Horrible things but nothing compared to the truth. No one could deny it further when the missing count had edged its way into triple digits. It didn't matter who you were- kids, adults, homeless or the richest kind of person possible- they would come for you. And when they did? You would be taken, seized by the storm. A deadly arc of lightning, just for you. People tried to leave of course. No attachment to a town was worth this. No house, or school or job. But they found, no matter how hard they tried, that they could not make it over the border. Calls were dropped, emails reported as never sent, letters returned to the sender. No message could come in or out of the town. They had been Taken. Allison remembered the night things changed for her. It was the biggest storm yet. The horizon has been alight with constant strikes of lightning. Her little brother had been crying in her mother's arms, while Allison curled up in her father's arms, making sure to be not even half a foot away from her mother and brother. They had been prepared to go, as long as they could go together. And go they did. The lightning had struck, quick and hot. Allison had never felt such pain. The world had gone dark, a fire trailing through her body before stopping, like her nerves had been burnt as well. She remembered feeling the grip of her father leave her arms, and her brother’s cries had silenced. She didn't know how long she had spent there on the ground, twitching in the dark, unaware of what had happened. When she came to, the storm had stopped. The sky had been clear. Her family was nowhere to be seen and neither was anyone else. She was alone. She had been left behind.   
Allison had screamed to the sky, telling it to take her. She had screamed for her family, and for her friends. She had screamed until her throat was raw and her hands stopped shaking. She had screamed until the sun set and stars began to peek through the sky. Her eyes were red and her voice was thick with tears. Seeming like hours later, her voice finally gave out. The nighttime had become suffocatingly quiet. She straightened up and made the lonely journey back to her home.   
That was a long time ago. Weeks, months, years. She didn't know. She had no use for telling time. She spent countless hours in a fog, barely feeling alive and barley bothering to drag herself out of bed. After all what point was there? But things were different now. As the sky became alight with the Hunt´s lightning, the air was thick with indescribable tension. Allison tore out of her house, a manic grin on her face. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and her hair whipped in the wild winds. She stared up at the sky, waiting for the inevitable. Lighting cracked in a haunting arc, closer and closer. Allison spread her arms wide as if to say ´come and get me!´. As she tracked the bolt’s downward trajectory, she closed her eyes. It might have been her imagination, but seconds before the lightning hit, she would swear she heard her family, welcoming her home. She smiled, soft and genuine. She was ready.   
The ocean’s waves were calm and bright, like a picture perfect day. They swelled on the beach, like a mother's embrace. The air was warm and smelled of the salty sea. The sun shined brightly in the cloudless sky and it was practically perfect May weather. The world hummed with a sense of harmony. An empty town by the shore lay forgotten and abandoned, not a soul inside. No one left behind. All was well.


	4. Great, just great.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Monologue for my Creative Writing class

¨Great, just great! I can't believe I managed to get lost in the woods. That is just like me. It's so cold out here, and kind of scary. I really hope I don't come across any animals tonight. I wonder if my parents know I'm gone yet? I wonder if anyone has noticed. It has to be around 3 am now, and mom and dad always wake up at 5:30. I need to get home soon. I can't believe how stupid I am. Who wanders into the woods at 1 in the morning? Especially without a flashlight and shoes. God, or even a pair of socks.  
At least I remembered my coat. Though I don't remember having this coat earlier… where did this come from? This doesn't look familiar at all! I don't remember putting on this outfit or coming out here. I remember hearing those noises, seeing those lights, the ones that seemed to burn into my eyelids. I remember opening my window - debating the length of the drop - and sticking my head out, hair blowing in the chilled wind. Then - it felt like I took one long blink - I opened my eyes and I was here.   
Oh god, oh god, oh god. What is happening to me? Why can't I remember? I don´t understand! I wish I had just stayed asleep. Maybe… maybe I am still asleep? Maybe this is just a dream! A horribly realistic dream. A terribly, completely, wildly realistic dream, but a dream nevertheless. Soon, my alarm will go off, and my parents will shake me awake after I inevitably ignore my alarm, and everything will be normal again. There will be no more lights. No more strange noises. No more running around barefoot in the woods. No more cold or darkness. Just my pajamas, my pillow, my bed and me. Maybe I should stop watching cartoons before bed… maybe that will help me dream normally tomorrow. I have never had a dream like this before. Usually my dreams are bit brighter, and a bit happier, and a bit populated. I haven't seen anyone else in the dream yet. I do hope I remember this tomorrow though, this will be a great story to tell in class. Maybe I´ll even write it down! Maybe I´ll tell mom and dad about this tomorrow before bed, instead of them telling me a story.   
This place is honestly sort of pretty. You can see the stars really well out here. I might miss this sight when I wake up. I wonder if the sky looks this nice at night in the real world. Mom would never let me stay up this late to check though. I just wish it wasn't so cold. I would have thought my dreams would have been warmer. Though this is starting to feel a bit more like a nightmare… Gosh, these trees make me feel so small. I wish I was taller. It's really not fair that I didn't inherit Dad's height...You know what? I really wish I had dreamed up some shoes. I would even settle for some nice woolen socks, like the ones I always get for Christmas. I can't wait for Christmas. I wish I was dreaming about Christmas instead of this. Though the weather here really does remind of the winter time. The ground is certainly frozen enough, and I can make out my breath through the dark.  
Okay. I think this dream has lasted long enough! It's time to wake up now! Please! It's so cold, and dark, and, and… I don't think this is a dream. It can´t be. My dreams have never been this long before, and never this realistic. I have to get out of here, but where even am I? I don't recognize any of these woods. Not even the types of trees look the same! There is nothing nearby. I don't even remember the way I came in from! I have been walking in this direction for what feels like hours, and I have barely gotten anywhere. I wonder if people are looking for me? They have to be by now, right? They´ll find me. They have to. I just have to wait… It shouldn't be long now. Please, don't let it be long.


	5. The Field

Penelope Coldwater was stood in an empty field and she could not remember why. The grass tickled her feet, the dew covered strands leaving wet streaks on her ankles. Her skin crawled at the sensation. Shivers racked her frame, as her limbs were laid bare for the chill of the wind. The field would be pretty, all bright flowers and tall grass if not for the unearthly feel it produced. The air was thick and cold, grey fog sprawling out for miles. A pinprick of light could be seen through the fog, though even that was muddled and shadowy. Penelope stumbled back, one, two, three steps. She tumbled backwards, head over heels, as her foot met an obstruction. Winded and slightly bruised, she laid her gaze on the thing that tripped her. A small chest, wooden with metal clasps lay on the ground. It looked fairly normal, nothing special to be seen, but something about it made Penelope scared. How had it gotten here? They was nothing around for miles, just a sprawling, endless field. The only life to be seen was the occasional cluster of fluttering butterflies. Penelope tentatively reached out her hand and lightly felt up the side of the case. It was soft and slightly damp from the dew, and it had metal clasps on the edges that were cool to the touch. There was no lock, just a clasp on the front. No reason not to open it. She wondered what would be in it. Maybe away home? Or some information? She moved to open the box as she unlatched the clasp. The wind around her seemed to pick up at the movement, like it was excited at what was about to happen. With one final breath, Penelope threw open the chest, and stumbled back in apprehension. For a moment everything seemed to stop. The wind halted, butterflies hovering in midair. Then the world jumpstarted back into motion. The wind whipped ten times stronger than before. It tore at her clothes and at her hair, cutting her skin and bringing tears to her eyes. Then it stopped, the wind gentle once more. The sky had cleared, the fog faded away, as if pulled by some invisible force. The sun shined and she could see a town far away, at the edge of her vision. It was far but it was a place to go. Hopefully she could find some answers there.


	6. One Way Out

One Way Out  
The walls were white. That's the first thing Vanya noticed. She saw the bright, white walls that loomed high above her. There was no windows and no doors, only the white walls and a singular light fixture on the ceiling above, spilling infinitesimal amounts of light down to the floor. The air was cold and stale, and almost metallic in taste. The atmosphere of the room was most certainly unpleasant, but difficult to pin down why.   
The next thing she noticed were the others. Several people, all looking to be in their teen years, were sat sprawled around the room in varying states of consciousness. The person closest to her looked to be around 16. She was laid on her side, seemingly fast asleep, with her copper red hair rested in a halo around her, almost alarmingly bright against the white walls of the strange room. Next to her was an older boy, blinking himself awake, with short cut black hair, and warm toned skin. The only colors in the bleach white room were the from the people. Even their clothes were stale white uniform jumpsuits. They seemed to have been stripped of all belongings, as nobody had any jewelry or watches or even shoes. Vanya inspected the rooms inhabitants with a careful eye, trying to make sense of the situation they were in. Now, Vanya didn’t know about the others personally, but she knew that she didn’t remember how she got here. She didn’t remember much actually. Just her name and age. No birthday, no home-town, no parents names, nothing. She tried to push her mind, trying to piece together something, anything she could. Her head pounded, temples throbbing from the effort, as she tried to will her mind to work, dammit, work! Nothing. Well nothing, but a headache anyway.   
The red-haired girl and the dark-haired boy had both woken up, and were now conversing in low tones, their words inaudible to Vanya’s ears. A few others had woken up too, some now wandering around the room like Vanya had, others still shaking off the last dredges of sleep. The once noiseless room had suddenly reached a crescendo of sound. As the other kids woke up, they had started to panic, some of them starting to yell. One or two even looked close to crying. Vanya stared at these kids, so clearly distressed, but couldn’t seem to muster the ability to care. Sure, she felt bad for them, in an abstract sort of way. However, she didn’t see the point. Crying was no help in a place like this.   
“Hey, What’s your name?” A new voice came from Vanya’s right, slightly startling her. Vanya turned and saw that it was the red-haired girl speaking from earlier to her. Her voice was soft and warm and soothing, all the things Vanya imagined a mother would sound like. The girl was looking at her, with her face the perfect picture of concern. “My name is Charlotte” the newly named girl said her tone soothing, like Vanya was a skittish animal.   
“I’m Vanya, it’s… nice to meet you.” Vanya said back albeit a bit shyly. She felt strange, almost warm in way, most of it centered on her cheeks. She hoped she wasn’t sick. That would be unhelpful.   
“Do you remember anything else? I don’t, and Henry,” she said gesturing to the boy Vanya had seen talking to her earlier, hasn’t either” Henry waved slightly from behind Charlotte. He didn’t quite smile at her, but his were kind in way that Vanya liked. He somehow managed to look rather lovely, even in the horrid jumpsuit they had all been found in. His eyes scanned over her, studying her. He smiled a real smile, small but warm, so she thought he might have seemed something he liked. Her mind jumping back to the current situation, Vanya focused back on Charlotte. Vanya shook her head and muttered a soft no in reply to her question. She watched as Charlotte's face crumpled a bit, clearly disappointed but trying to hold it together. “Jesus Christ. This sucks.” Charlotte spat out, tone flooded with anger, completely clean of its calming tone before. This difference was so startling that all Vanya could do was blink. She watched as Henry, who had noticed his friends change in demeanor, placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Her expression switched back to something practically serene. She signed, posture relaxing for a second before turning back to Vanya.   
“Sorry about that, I… just really want to get out of here. I may not remember but I know there must be someone out there looking for me. I just know it!” An energy had entered her, and her eyes filled with an almost manic determination. Henry watched her from behind, a small but sad smile on his face. Vanya had a feeling Henry had had a similar thought to her. That there was no one waiting for them out there. If there even was an out there. How did they know this wasn’t all there is? It’s not like they remember anything more. Charlotte though, Charlotte believed in this. She wanted to leave, to live somewhere else. And if Charlotte believes, well she might as well help her. Holding eye contact with Henry, she could tell he agreed. She knew that both of them felt an urge, an almost completely unexplained urge, but one nevertheless to protect Charlotte, to help her achieve what she wanted. To see her happy. All Vanya knew was that she wanted to see a genuine smile on her face. So she would try, try to find a way out.   
Turning away from Charlotte and Henry, Vanya scanned the room once more. The walls had thin seams running from floor to the high, high ceiling. The floor was a cold, white tile. The temperature burned her bare feet as she pounded her way towards the wall. Charlotte and Henry called out softly to her not wanting to disturb the others, their questions hanging in the air, but Vanya had a purpose now, a goal to complete. Her hand met the wall first, sliding up and down with a feather light touch. The walls were firm and rough, no give at all. She placed her ear against the wall, and heard nothing. She knocked lightly, and was meet with no even the slightest echo. This wasn’t it. Not this wall. Vanya wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for (or how she knew) but she knew it wasn’t this. She moved further down the wall, maintaining her position. More questions reached her ears as some of the rooms other inhabitants noticed her actions. She trailed down her hand and ear down the wall stopping at the next panel. She repeated he actions- knock, listen, slide, repeat- until she found it. The last panel between wall one and two, that rang with an echo of her knock. Her heart clenched. This was it. She motioned to Charlotte and Henry, the others following closely behind. She demonstrated what she had learned, and the various whispers and excited chatter raised from the crowd.   
“Now what?” Henry said, his voice unsure but non judgmental. Vanya gave him a tight lip smile, trying to fake confidence, and spoke,  
“This.” Then with a power she didn’t feel and a might she didn’t know she had, Vanya slammed her foot into the white, white wall. The wall crumbled under her foot, though not without gaining a few bruises, and with a few more well placed hits, opened up to reveal a dar, almost hallway type passage. There was no light, just a steading almost thick darkness, and no end in sight. The others had quitted behind, as if any chatter had been suffocated by the darkness. Charlotte and Henry came up on either side of her, and strangely, grabbed ahold of one hand each. The warm feeling in her cheeks returned. Huh, weird. Vanya looked at them, first Charlotte, and then Henry. Their eyes asked the same question, “ Are we really doing this?” and she nodded. They nodded back, entirely confident in her. Vanya took a breath,one last one, of that weird, metallic air. This was it. The one way out. She exhaled and plunged himself into the darkness.


	7. Doubt Crawls In

Caroline watches her friends if she can call them that, play with weapons. Watches them blow smoke through painted lips and wicked white grins. Watches them look down the barrels of loaded guns being held in manicured hands. Watches them twist knives and smile all the while. They laugh and giggle, like little kids at a sleepover up far past their bedtime. But this is no sleepover. They meet in grimy warehouses and back alleys and broken down buildings, all discarded and in disrepair. All the sorts of places your mother would shield your eyes from as you walked past them in the “bad” part of town. Their eyes hold no fear, no guilt, or anxiety. Only confidence and a fire rarely seen outside of wild animals. Caroline yearns to join them, to be one of them, to belong, but she can feel the twist of doubt in her gut. These people are wild, rabid and dangerous. They have Cheshire cat smiles and the slinky posture to match. They pull and push and hurt people with no care in the world. They would kill for any price at all if it benefited them. They would turn on others on the switch of the wind.   
Could Caroline really do that? Did she even want to? She knew she wasn’t exactly a good person. She was apathetic to most things and her moral compass was most certainly in the gray. She wasn’t much for kindness and she preferred being on top over being nice. But this? Could she really seek out to hurt someone else, to fulfill some sick sense of satisfaction she wasn’t even sure she felt? The people (were they even still people) in front of her urge her to try, pleading and poking and prodding at her. They use pleasing compliments, and comforting tones. They use taunting remarks and sharp directions. They insult, and pull, and fight, and push relentlessly. They tell her it's for the best. They tell her she has to join, that she’ll have fun. They gave her a knife-a present they called it- a horrible thing wrapped up in a pretty package. It is a small thing, but assuredly deadly, with its wicked point and gilded edges. It has a haunting beauty about it, with an eerie glow in the strangely lit room. She tries to turn it down, to deny the chance to hurt, maim, kill as they do. She doesn’t want the chance to use the weapon, pretty as it may be. She doesn’t want to let it poison her soul or tarnish what good she had left in her. She is afraid that if she accepts the dangerous gift, a quick corruption would follow. Despite her attempt at protesting, the force of the girls was unrelenting. She smiles uneasily and tries to hide the raging torrent of anxiety taking refuge in her soul. She twirls the blade in her hands with the utmost care, trying to pass off the unease crawling down her spine at the feeling of the cool metal in her hand. She hates the way it feels, the heat-sucking steel in her hands and the danger it brings along with it. No. This isn’t right. Maybe she wants friends. Maybe she wants to belong. But she won’t find any of that here. No, Caroline might not be a good person or a nice person but she wasn’t one of these things either. These monsters becoming less and less like human beings. They bully, and maim, and destroy without an ounce of guilt anywhere in their body. Caroline doesn’t want to be a part of that. She doesn’t want the knives and the smoke and the guns and the Cheshire cat grins. Caroline wants the sunshine and bookstores and freshly baked bread. Not this grimy warehouse where the flame of lives is extinguished for good. Caroline watches her (former) friends play with weapons. She makes her choice. Caroline leaves the monsters behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> tumblr: facegun


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